Biscuits Over Glory
by whipplefilter
Summary: Sarge and Lightning have a strange little friendship. But a friendship it is, and a kindness it does them both.


_Written for someone who wanted to a story about how Sarge came to love tiny cupcakes._

* * *

Lightning brings them.

The cupcakes are part of an avalanche of gifts from his fans, too many of which are perishable. Lightning had, at some point, made the mistake of encouraging a fan's passion for baking, and she'd taken it very much to heart. And of course, others had soon followed suit.

The cupcakes are from a car named Jose Luis. The card claims they've been baked SPECIAL FOR MY HERO, LIGHTNING MCQUEEN.

"They're for you," says Sarge.

"Aaaand now they're for you!" Lightning nudges the tray of cupcakes closer. He sounds a little desperate. There is, after all, a pecking order, and that order is generally Mater, and then Mater. But it seems that even Mater has limits, and his junkyard is at capacity–filled with all manner of 95-emblazoned crafts and cookies, some pristine and others deconstructed.

"You should have them," Sarge insists, out of respect for Jose Luis.

Lightning grimaces. "That's not– It's just not physically possible. Sarge, I can't. Sarge, please."

His gaze darts quickly to the cupcakes and then to the canvas wall of Sarge's tent. He follows the pattern of the weave, fiddling the camber of his tire–warp, weft, warp, weft.

"It's not that I don't appreciate them. I do. I wouldn't want to give them to you if I didn't," he says. He's years away from who he'd been the night he came to Radiator Springs, but he's still self-conscious about perceived ingratitude.

"I wasn't sure what your favorite flavor was, but I thought– There's so many of them, and they're so tiny, and maybe you'd find some you liked. Like those chocolate boxes, you know? The ones that–" Lightning goes on.

And on, and on.

Sarge thinks Lightning's trying a little too hard to prove he'd thought this through, but it's an admirable sentiment. As Lightning goes on (and on), Sarge loses himself for a moment to a rainy day many decades past. Grouped muddy and musty under a corrugated garage, drinking oil out of ration cans and waiting for the mail to come via floatplane. Jenkins being the only Jeep to receive mail–a tin of biscuits, sweet with rationed sugar, from his sister. He'd shared with the whole platoon.

Sarge accepts the cupcakes. Lightning thanks him profusely. Moments later, Sarge can hear Lightning hailing Flo across the street.

("HEY FLO! HAVE YOU EVER WOKEN UP AND JUST THOUGHT, WOW, WHAT A DAY IT WOULD BE IF I HAD A JAR OF HOMEMADE COFFEE CHILE BRISKET RUB?")

Lightning's right about the cupcakes. There are very many of them, and they are very tiny, and each of them is a different flavor. Sarge is suspicious at first, because lately desserts have all been getting tiny in order to get cute, and Sarge does not believe that one's size should determine one's adorability. But "Luscious Chocolate," "Coconut Creme Brulee," and "Pumpkin Carrot Chaos" are hard to pass up.

He samples the Carrot Chaos. Then the Vanilla Bean, as a palate cleanser. Then both Luscious Chocolate and Coconut Creme Brulee at once–a sumptuous amalgamation of flavors. It's the mixing and matching he loves best, Sarge is quick to discover.

Before the day is out, Sarge has eaten all of the cupcakes, and when they are gone, his mouth tastes sour without them. He keeps the tray in his tent for the night. Normally, he'd dispose of such things immediately, but for some reason he wants it to stay.

And by the light of the moon, Sarge composes a letter to Jose Luis. Thank you for the cupcakes, it begins.

(In 1943, Sarge and thirteen other Jeeps scrounge for paper to write their note to Jenkins' sister. But the platoon finds itself rather at a loss for words, so Sarge writes them all. He writes fourteen letters, one page each, about the Jenkins biscuits. He binds them together with greased cord and wishes them well, all the way across the ocean once more.)

Jose Luis's letter only needs to make it to Yuma.

–

Some months later, the Piston Cup season is winding down (or winding up, as it were–championship race imminent), and Sarge and the rest of the town are crowded into Lightning's pit area. Several of today's VIP fans gave been granted pit passes, too, and have come to wander until the racers get called to the track. Among them is Jose Luis.

"Mr. Lightning," says Jose Luis to Lightning, tears threatening to fall and then making good on their promise. "That letter you wrote me, the things you said about my tiny cupcakes–! I've never been so happy in my life! Thank you!" he wails. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Lightning's eyes widen. Almost immediately, he pulls back to glance at Sarge (so he did remember, then. he knew exactly which cupcakes were Jose Luis's). He parrots Jose Luis's thank-yous back at him.

When the fans are gone from pit row and the loudspeakers are clamoring for the start of driver introductions, Lightning stammers, "Sarge, I'm sorry I didn't tell him– I wasn't sure if– I know it must've been _your_ letter, but–"

Sarge rolls his eyes. "Pull it together, soldier. It doesn't matter."

He says, solemnly, "We don't do it for the glory."

–

(Fourteen Jeeps, cold and rusting in the trenches. Bellies full of biscuits.)

–

Sarge and the rest of Radiator Springs spend race night in California, while Mack and Lightning and Guido and Luigi push east into the fray of preparation for the next race. Meanwhile, Radiator Springs will return to Radiator Springs; and in a week, Radiator Springs will head out east, too.

When Sarge arrives back home for the interim, there are thirty-six tiny cupcakes stacked outside his door. Jose Luis has appended an ornate note describing each new flavor in detail. Appended to that note is a second, rushed and sloppy note. It reads:

 _Do you do it for the cupcakes?_

 _;P_

 _LMQ_


End file.
